Gangs of Brooklyn
by cbs3
Summary: Ugly runs with the toughest gang in Brooklyn. Can she find love with a gorgeous Brooklyn newsboy leader,or has she already gone too far? FINISHED? Beware of Sequel!
1. Chapter 1

This story was inspired by _Of Love and War _by Butterfly Conlon but goes in a completely different direction. I'm still not sure how I feel about the opening but it gets interesting. Please review with your reactions/suggestions! Thanks!

She walked in the light of the moon, one black leather boot in front of the other, sure. Her hands sat tensely in the pockets of her ankle length coat. A black cowboy hat was pulled low over her eyes. She walked through the bad part of town. As if everywhere in New York City weren't the bad part of town when the sun took its long nap. Through the hole in her right pocket she held the smooth metal surface that was the handle of her knife. Her beloved knife, she had never felt closer to anyone than she felt to that knife. Her messy blonde hair was held in a ponytail and hung down her back. That and her hard womanly chest provided hints of her femininity. She marched past women of the night, their chests pushed up to the bursting point by restrictive corsets. She felt no affinity with them, only disgust. She would never allow herself to be ravaged by a man.

Drunken men smattered the streets, entreating the women with reeking breath. Their strong laughter resonated from the filthy pubs that lined the streets. She hated them. But she had business here, and so she walked. A paunchy man with a fat moustache caught a glimpse of her young breasts beneath her shirt. He stupidly reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. Before he had time to proposition her with slurred words, her precious knife was at his throat. It glinted like her green eyes in the light as she glared maliciously at him.

"What the hell?" He cursed.

"Exactly, hell. That's where I came from and that's where you're gonna go if you ever touch me again," she growled. His balding forehead was perspiring and his breath was thick and fast. She could feel his fat body trembling beneath the blade. She allowed it to slowly caress his throat, feeding off his pain and fear so that she could feel strong. She flicked it away and turned with a satisfied smile.

When she was a good distance away, she heard him yell, "You bitch!"

"Fuckin' right," she mumbled under her breath.

She reached the spot with no further interference. She walked into the bar. It was dark and dank and smoky like any other New York bar. And like any other New York bar, it had its secrets. Secrets few were privy to. She walked over to the bar counter. A gray-haired old man with a tired face was taking orders from the scummy late night drinkers. He knobbed the beer tap and let it flow into a thick glass. He wiped his hands with a dirty rag and noticed her standing off to the side with her head bowed down. He glanced around at the other customers before heading over.

"Hey Ugly," He whispered, "I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it tonight."

"I had a few hold ups on the way," she replied, watching the beer fill up in the glass.

"I got the stuff downstairs," she nodded as the beer crested the top and began to overflow, foam oozing over the sides. He leaned in closer. "I could only get thirty-four pretty maids, I know he wanted fifty."

She traced a crack in the counter with her finger. "That ain't my problem."

"It ain't, I know it ain't. I just thought ya should know is all," he seemed flustered.

"Down in the usual spot?" She asked, looking into his eyes for the first time. He nodded. She pushed away from the counter and headed toward a side door. She turned her head. "You might wanna get that," she said, nodding toward the tap. He flicked it off and she was gone.

Ugly Sendim was called so for her pure, angelic face. The last part came from and the oft-repeated phrase, "Ugly, send 'im ta hell." She was known for her merciful killings. No one suffered long beneath her able hands.

She found the "stuff" in the usual spot, as promised. She loaded her pockets with the bullets and slid the two rusty guns into the holister on her back. She tucked the three brass knuckles into her pants pockets and strapped the four knifes to her legs. She walked out of the basement weighed down with weaponry. She hoped to God she wouldn't be disturbed on the walk back, she always bruised herself by making quick movements when she worked as a transport. But of course, she wasn't so lucky.

It was nearly dawn when she arrived at the Lodging House, tired and irritated. Why did those bastards always insist on sending her all the way to the East Side in the middle of the night, and alone no less? Just because she was a girl didn't mean she should have to do all the grunt work. She had certainly proved herself enough times to warrant that.

She walked past the empty front desk and up the stairs. Her feet echoed through the quiet space. She marched down the hallway feeling more and more irritated. _If those fuckers are asleep…_she thought to herself. She flung the door open, and sure enough, the boys were sprawled out across their beds. As usual, empty bottles and cigarette butts littered the floor. The boys were snoring soundly. Ugly's body ached from lugging their shit around, _alone_, and they were sleeping like fucking babies! She whipped out a shotgun, slid in a bullet , cocked it and aimed at a knot in the wall.

Bang! The shot echoed through the lodging house as the bullet flew to the knot. Immediately, all the boys jumped out of bed, cursing and yelling. Ugly ignored them, marching over to the wall. She'd hit the knot dead-on. At least she knew it shot straight.

"What the hell's the big idea?" Demanded Thick Throat in his nasally voice. The other boys chorused their outrage.

"Shut up, fuckers," she replied, scanning the unloaded gun across their red faces. "Is he upstairs?"

"Yeah," responded Curlup, "The three of 'em have been at it all night."

Ugly sighed and headed through the door. She couldn't help but feel nervous as she headed up the creaky steps. With their fearless leader, you never knew what might happen. It was exhilarating. As she pushed the door open she could immediately smell the sickly sweet smoke of opium. Lewis was sitting in a wooden chair, the token beer in his thick hands. Kyro was lying on the edge of the bed. He was on his back with his head over the edge, upside down. His long yellow hair hung down and nearly touched the floor. Roan Xavier was leaning against the headboard of the king size bed. He was smoking a cigarette and the smoke poured from his long, pointy noise. He looked at Ugly with deep, black eyes.

"Hello, gorgeous," he drawled, "have you brought me something special today?"

Ugly began to divulge herself of the goods, laying them out on the table. "Damn Dooley only got thirty-four pretty men, thirty-three," she corrected.

"Minus the shot we heard downstairs?" Roan asked. She remained silent.

"Why the fuck do ya call them pretty men, ya bitch?" Lewis asked in his usual slurry voice.

"Fuck off, Lewd," she snapped.

Roan got up off the bed and walked over to examine the goods. Ugly could feel his power and charisma crackle off him like electricity. He gently fingered the goods, regarding them critically. He picked up a shotgun, twirled it on a finger, testing the weight. He began to slide bullets down the holes.

"It shoots straight," she commented. He grinned at her as he loaded the second gun. Then he marched over to the window and shoved open the shutters. Light poured violently into the room. The sounds of the early morning streets followed. Ugly and the two boys gathered around Roan, ready for a display. Down on the street corner, a newsie was calling out the headlines, waving a paper high above his head. In the blink of an eye, Roan took aim and his shot echoed through the streets. The pedestrians halted in their walk and ducked, carriages dashed through the street. The little newsboy lowered his paper, regarding it with a shocked expression. It had been ripped open by the bullet. Onlookers glanced furiously around for the source of the shot, but all the windows were shuttered.

The four adolescents stood in the dark room. Kyro and Lewis were laughing hysterically. Roan had a cocky smile plastered to his face.

Ugly was suddenly exhausted. She took her leave of the boys and walked down the stairs and into the room that was hers by right of sex. She dead-bolted the door and stripped down to her t-shirt. She lay down on her thin mattress. She had a good life. She was strong, she was protected; she was free from the fears and pains of factory life and the filthiness of the life as a whore. But if she was so free, why did she feel as if she were in chains?


	2. Chapter 2

"What the fuck are you boys still doing here?" Roan demanded a few minutes after Ugly had left, "don't you have business to attend to?"

Lewis darted his head around, caught off guard by his leader's sudden temper. Kyro rolled off the bed in a daze. He knew better than to ask what business that might be. He left the room without a word. Lewis stood abruptly.

"I'm gonna go check in with some of our boys up north, okay boss?" Roan didn't respond. He just ran his finger across one of the new knives. "I'll give you a full report tonight, okay boss?" Lewis was a needy kiss-ass.

"Fine, Lewis, and stop by Black-Eyes' on your way up to check on that kilo. Tell him I got people waiting. People who ain't so very patient," Roan ordered. Lewis headed dutifully out the door, his useless little soul filled with the pleasure of having a job from his God. Roan pulled out a tool kit from under his desk and got to work on those knives.

Roan Xavier was a true renaissance man. He had his fingers in many "businesses" throughout Brooklyn and the city. He improved and resold weaponry on the black market; he had a part in drug trade, preformed armed robberies and owned several Brooklyn properties, including the Lodging House. No one knew for certain all that he did, but everyone knew who he was. He employed over a hundred Brooklyn boys directly, and countless New Yorkers indirectly. But most importantly, he offered his protection, for a fee.

Up until recently, everything had been running smoothly in his domain. Too smoothly, Roan was starting to get bored. But lately, Roan had been hearing more and more whispers about a newsboy leader named Spot Conlon. Conlon was beginning to exert an influence in Brooklyn that irritated Roan. He had a spy network around the city and twice his newsboys had held up some of Roan's thugs on a job. He was talked about on the street and making a name for himself in Brooklyn. This hadn't so much bothered Roan; after all, he was just a newsie. In fact, Roan had sort of liked him after hearing about the newsboys strike. This Conlon kid had helped kick the balls of the rich cocks that ran this city, and Roan liked that. But a few months ago, the "protection fees" from the Brooklyn newsboys had stopped coming in. At the time, Roan had let it go because he'd been preoccupied with other things. But Roan was not about to let a mere newsboy challenge his supremacy in this borough. And now, it bothered him not a little that Conlon had triumphed in the strike. If he could win a fight with the most powerful men in New York, who's to say he couldn't be a worthy adversary to Roan himself? Roan smiled and lit his opium pipe. He always worked better when he was high.

Ugly had been lying awake in her bed for only a few minutes when she heard a soft tapping on the door. As usual, she couldn't sleep, so she didn't mind the distraction. She opened the door to find Kyro, glassy-eyed as usual. He walked in without a word and she bolted the door behind him. He lay down on her mattress and she lay next to him. He looked at her with his yellow eyes and young, sensitive face. He moved in and kissed her, sliding his right hand down the curve of her back as he mouthed her beneath him. She closed her eyes, concentrating on his touch. There was nothing else, nothing else. _Hypocrite!_ She mentally hissed. But she wasn't a whore; she wasn't doing this for money. She was doing it for loneliness and emptiness. She was doing this because she was rotting inside and she wanted to feel something beautiful, even if it was only for a moment.

Later on that day, Roan was also vertical on his bed with a sweet young Brooklynite with her hair in two long braids. Roan liked his pretty, young things clean and pure. He also liked to talk during sex; it was when he did some of his best thinking.

"So, this Conlon guy, are he and his gang still on the corner of 8th?" he asked in heavy breaths as he pounded her.

"Mostly…he's down…by the…docks," she really needed to work on her stamina.

"Which docks? Jamaica Bay?" He asked.

"Un-uh…Brooklyn…br…the bridge," she said, he was finished. They paused for a moment, breathing.

Roan pulled out and rolled over on the bed. He lit a cigarette and leaned back against the headboard. "The bridge? Cocky son of a bitch," he mumbled to himself. The girl slithered over and rested her head on his chest. He put a hand on her head and ran it over one of her long braids. "What else do you know about him?" He asked.

She shrugged. "A lot of girls at school have crushes on him…"

"Does he fuck 'em?"

"I don't know…not as good as you fuck me," she said, tracing her fingers down his taut tummy. He rolled over her and fucked her again, this time smoking instead of talking. Roan was quite the multi-tasker.

Ugly and Lewis walked down the streets, headed toward the Brooklyn bridge. Roan had sent them to talk to the newsboy leader there. The streets were hot and crowded and the back of Ugly's shirt stuck to her sweaty back. She squinted her eyes. She hated working in the daylight. She felt like everyone was looking at her. She pulled her hat down on her head and quickened her pace.

"Slow the fuck down!" Lewis whined, plodding after her.

She sighed and slowed her gait. She was tired anyway. Despite numerous swigs of whiskey and cigarettes, she'd hardly gotten a wink of sleep last night. And the boisterous Brooklyn streets were not doing much for her headache. Hundreds of people were charging this way and that, with scowls on their faces. Expletives were yelled if any of these people crossed paths, which naturally happened often. Ugly was crawling out of her skin. She much preferred the night, when the streets were quieter and the air cooler.

Finally they reached the bridge. Lewis stopped at the top and pulled out a pair of opera-style binoculars. "Which side?" He asked.

"North," Ugly responded, slipping her hand beneath her shirttail and slopping off the sweat. She really wasn't a daytime person.

Lewis peered through the lenses. He looked like an ape at the theater. Ugly couldn't help laughing to herself.

"What'd Roan say he looked like?" Lewis asked.

"God! Don't you know nothing? Let me have those," Ugly snatched the binoculars out of his fat hands and peered out onto the docks. She scoped the scene. Boys loitering… jumping into the lake…ah-ha! One skinny boy stood alone on some kind of look-out. He definitely had the superior attitude of a leader. She motioned Lewis to take a look. "Right there," she directed.

"That's him? He don't look like no leader," Lewis commented.

"Roan said he was kinda smallish, remember?"

"I still say he don't look like no leader," Lewis maintained.

"C'mon," Ugly directed, "let's go."

They walked down to the docks and up the planks. The boys stopped in there activities to regard them fiercely. A boy with big pecks who was dripping wet stepped in front of them and halted their walk.

"What do yous think you're doing here?" he demanded.

Lewis stepped up, looking threatening. "We're here on business, from Roan Xavier," he said, feeling the effect of his words as the boys listening clenched up at the name.

The mouth didn't move, although he seemed a bit shaken. "Brooklyn don't talk ta anyone without an appointment."

"Brooklyn?" Ugly scoffed. Lewis fingered his knife, no one talked down to him who wasn't his leader.

"Skiff! Let 'em by," A voice called out from on high. Skiff stepped aside.

Spot Conlon stood up on his perch, regarding them magnanimously. As they approached, he leapt down and stood firm, regarding them with big, glaring blue eyes. Ugly stared right back, she knew it was a challenge of some sort. He looked like a wolf and she hated that her skin crawled a little. He turned away, satisfied, and sat down on some crates. His boys hovered around, like shadows, ready to spring from the dark at the slightest beckon of their leader.

"So, what is it yous want?" He asked, continuing to glare with eyes that seemed lit from a fire within.

Lewis squinted back at him. His hands were balled in tight fists. "I'm second in command to Roan Xavier," Ugly couldn't help but smile at his self-given title. Roan did not have a second in command, he was president, vice and scum all rolled into one. "I'm sure you've hoid of him."

Conlon fingered the gold tip of his cane. "Xavier..." he said as if trying to place him.

"You lying son of a bitch!" Ugly accused. She had problems keeping her temper in check.

Spot looked at her as if just realizing she were there. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He turned back to Lewis. "Yeah…I've hoid of him. What about him?"

Lewis twitched visibly; he did not take well to disrespecting of his leader. "As you know, Roan runs this town. Every shitty thing you do, every paper you sell, every second you breathe, it's because he lets you," Lewis threatened. Spot's eyes flashed and his nostrils widened. "And all he asks is that you pay him a small fee for all that he gives you. And we's here to collect."

Conlon was electric with anger. The eyes of his boys were burning into him, wondering what he would do. He stood up quickly, struggling to hold in his temper. "You can tell your so-called leader, that the Brooklyn newsboys don't answer to no one but themselves," he marched up to Lewis, glaring into his eyes without blinking. "You can tell him that Brooklyn is Spot Conlon territory," he backed up, "and if you have a problem with that, you can come to me." It was a challenge. Ugly could see Lewis sweating under the exertion of holding himself back.

"My leader sent me here to talk, that's all. So that's all I'm gonna do," Lewis' voice was shaking with anger. Ugly put a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to walk away. They turned around. Lewis turned back. Spot was regarding them with crossed arms and smug look. "But you better believe you're going to pay for this," Lewis threatened. "If Roan don't see no money from you, you're going to wish I had killed you. I can promise you, Roan won't be so merciful." They walked off the docks silently, each burning inside. Ugly couldn't believe that this newsboy was standing up to Roan Xavier. He had to be the stupidest boy she'd ever met. If only he knew what he was in for…she almost felt bad for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Ugly and Lewis had been walking back from Brooklyn when they'd been intercepted by Beezle, one of their fellow gang members. He'd directed Ugly to haul ass to the corner outside Black eye's Pawn Shop and sent Lewis to the East Side to tell some girl that Roan wouldn't be able to meet with her tonight. Ugly had darted through the streets as the sun dove beneath the buildings, offering up the darkness as a haven for their sins.

Ugly had found Roan and Kyro sitting on the stoop across from the Pawn Shop, hidden from view by a trash bin brimming with waste. They regarded her without a word. Roan lit a cigarette and kept his eyes trained on the Pawn Shop. Ugly sat down on the stoop next to Kyro. He was staring off into the distance, seemingly unaware of her. They all sat quiet and still as people buzzed around them, racing to get inside as darkness blanketed the street. Ugly watched the city be transformed by the night. This was a bad part of town, without streetlights. The children and old maids were replaced by shady looking characters with sharp faces.

Ugly was watching a frail old man shuffle through the trash, taking up empty bottles of wine and tipping them back, hoping for one last drop, when Roan turned to her and placed a shotgun in her open palm. It was the gun she'd picked up on the East Side, but it was shined up and the beginnings of a dragon had been etched into the new silver handle. It was nearly transformed by Roan's skilled hands. Roan gave Kyro a pistol and a knife. Roan never carried weapons on a job; he liked to make things exciting. Roan stood up and walked toward the wooden door of the pawn shop. Ugly and Kyro followed silently. The curtains of the shop were drawn shut over the glass windows. Roan tried the doorknob; it was locked for the day. He knocked.

"We're closed!" A voice crackled from within.

"Black eye, buddy, you wouldn't think of locking me out?" Roan called back, his voice laced with a growl. There was no answer, but something fell to the floor behind the closed door. Roan shoved himself angrily off the door. "Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed, "Ugly, blow the goddamn door in." Ugly quickly surveyed the streets, all clear. She stood back and blew a hole right through the door, close to the knob. Roan immediately snaked his hand through the door, yanked out the bolt and kicked it open.

Old Black eye was rooted to his spot behind the counter, mouth agape. Black eye was one ugly bastard. The right side of his face was concave, and the eye was sunken in and rimmed with purple. Roan marched right up to him, grabbed him by his snarly graying hair and yanked him over the counter in one foul swoop. Black eye crashed to the floor; his good eye wide in terror. Roan paced the floor as Black eye shakily stood up. Ugly and Kyro stayed by the door, watching.

"Black eye, baby, sweetheart, you've been hiding something from me," Roan crooned wickedly.

"I ain't been hiding nothin'! You hear me, nothin'!" Black eye yelled, defiant and desperate.

Roan stopped pacing and looked directly at him. "Don't you fucking lie to me!" he demanded. He charged toward him. "You've been trying to cut me out, you lousy son of a bitch." He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and glared at him with eyes as dark and hot as coal. Black eye began to tremble in his hands.

"If you kill me, you'll never find it, you'll never find it!" he protested. Roan shoved him against the counter and turned to Kyro.

"Kyro," he ordered and Kyro walked behind the counter. He opened up one of the drawers and pulled out a large canvas sack. He peeled back the lid to reveal blackish leaves. Roan grinned at Black eye. Black eye's old, bony body was quaking like he'd been strapped into an electric chair.

Roan watched as Kyro fingered a leaf and Black eye seized the opportunity. He curled down and reached into his waistband, pulling out a knife and aiming it at Roan's throat. Roan reacted immediately, grabbing the dull blade with his hands. Black eye backed up, shocked by this self-wounding action. What kind of crazy fuck grabs a blade? Blood seeped down both of their arms like bright veins.

"Black eye, don't" Roan warned under his breath. Black eye didn't listen. He pushed the knife forward and Roan released his hold. The knife flicked Roans skin as Roan took both hands and shoved it down. He pushed his fingers through Black eye's bony grasp and rotated the knife, then plunged it into Black eye's warm chest. Hot blood poured over his torn hands and Black eye collapsed to the floor. He was yelling out in pain. Roan dropped to his knees and yanked Black eye's head up by his hair. "Who's you source?" He demanded. Black eye squealed in pain like a pig in the slaughter. "Tell me! Who's your goddamn source?" But it was no use; Black eye was a good as dead. Roan stood up and moved away as he writhed in pain on the floor. "Ugly, send 'im ta hell," he ordered calmly. Ugly took aim and mercifully shot him straight through the heart. Unearthly silence followed.

"Jesus! That was fucked up," Roan exclaimed, examining his bloody hands.

"Yous don't think the bulls will have heard?" Ugly asked, anxiously. She always felt nervous after a killing.

Roan shot her a look. "You just plugged the fucking door five minutes ago, do you see any bulls?" He demanded angrily.

"It's just that now we got a dead body on our hands," she mumbled, turning red.

"Yeah, we do," Roan said, regarding the blood-drenched carcass as he wiped his hands with a rag from the counter. "Goddamn stupid fuck, now we're gonna have to keep a watch on this place to see if his source stops by. And to make sure the bulls don't get suspicious."

"I don't think any one'll give fuck that this scumbag is gone," Ugly remarked. Roan gave her an approving look and she felt redeemed.

Kyro had already dug into the abandoned pot bag and was rolling himself a cigarette. Roan came over to join him, his right hand now wrapped in the rag. He examined the goods as he rolled his cigarette. "This is some nice shit; it's from the goddamn Himalayas," he commented. Ugly nodded like she knew what he was talking about.

The boys finished making their cigarettes and hopped up on the counter. Roan wiped his hair off his face, causing the crusted blood on his forehead to crack. Ugly lit a normal cigarette and sat on a stool, trying to force her frayed nerves to quiet. "So," Roan said loosely after a few good puffs, "let's hear the Conlon report."

Ugly thought back to her experiences this afternoon. They seemed a million miles away. "It was a no go," Ugly said. "He refused to pay."

Roan nodded, just as he'd expected. "Tell me about this kid," he asked, amicably.

"He said he and his newsboys don't answer to no one," Ugly reported. "He was proud as hell." She tapped her cigarette on the edge of the stool and watched the ashes fall.

"Pride is a deadly sin." Roan commented. The smell of blood was enflaming Ugly's nostrils.

"He said Brooklyn is his territory," Ugly said. Roan regarded her and slowly exhaled thick, grey smoke.

"I gotta meet this guy," he commented. A wicked grin flashed across his lips as he leaned back and enjoyed the effects of the drug.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for reviews! I really appreciate them. This story has a mind of its own, so I hope you enjoy where it goes…

The next week passed by in the usual way; Ugly and the others were kept busy with a couple stings, transport work and the like. Roan was especially active doing whatever the hell he does in the borough's underground; and particularly happy because they managed to locate Black eye's source, and by dealing with him directly, Roan's profit margin increased considerably. But he hadn't forgotten about Spot Conlon, and he spent a night or two merrily plotting his retribution while smoking Himalayan pot in bed.

Kyro was belting his pants in Ugly's bedroom in the early afternoon when they received a summons from one of Roan's messenger boys. Ugly tucked in her shirt and lit a cigarette, then followed Kyro up the creaky stairs to Roan's room.

Roan was leaning against his headboard smoking while a chubby little brunette clung to his chest like a he was her favorite stuffed animal. Roan smiled suspiciously when they entered. "You know, the two of you should really get together," he said, leaning over the girl to tap ashes into a tray. Ugly looked at her feet but Kyro remained stone faced as usual. "So," Roan continued conversationally, "do you two have any plans for this afternoon? Perhaps a little tea dinner? Maybe a cotillion?" Ugly and Kyro knew better than to respond to Roan's slightly bizarre little interludes. Roan's voice darkened, "because I was hoping we could pay a little visit to a new friend of mine, this absolutely gorgeous little newsboy leader."

"Spot Conlon?" The baby-faced brunette asked.

Roan looked down at her, petted her hair back and kissed her forehead. "That's right, baby, Spot Conlon," he murmured softly. He pulled her arms off of him gently. "Daddy had to work now, OK?" He asked, sweetly. She nodded her head. "I'm gonna get one of the boys to take you home, OK?" She nodded again and he brushed her hair back again before rolling out of bed. He stood up and stretched, arching his back. He grabbed a bag of tobacco and some rolling papers and turned to Ugly and Kyro. "Shall we to the docks?" He asked.

"Do we need weapons?" Ugly asked, immediately regretting it. She wasn't supposed to question her leader.

Roan fixed her with a stare. "Not this time," he replied, walking out the door.

They followed Roan through the hectic streets as the sun swung slowly down the sky. They didn't speak and Ugly couldn't help but wonder what exactly Roan's plans were. She had expected them to walk down to the docks, plug Spot Conlon and anyone who tried to interfere, and then return home in time for supper; but that would prove to be a difficult task without any weapons. What the hell were they going to do without weapons? Maybe Roan had been serious about the tea dinner, stranger things had happened under his direction.

They approached the docks as the city was yellowing beside the dropping sun. The scene at the docks was more subdued than it had been during Ugly's last visit. Young boys were out of the water and instead lolling around on crates or on the wooden planks, playing games or talking quietly. Roan stopped for a second, surveyed the scene and lit a cigarette. A smile was quivering on his lips like he couldn't believe how much fun he was about to have. Ugly's stomach was in knots. She scanned the docks, looking for Conlon. He was off to the side, talking conspiratorially with some boys. A sitting duck.

Roan moved off toward the docks, smoke billowing exquisitely from his nostrils. Ugly and Kyro flanked his sides, the uneasy wingmen. Their feet hit the planks and the world stopped. The newsboys turned and froze like strange statues lit by the weird yellow light. No one moved; no "mouth" tried to hold them up. Ugly and Kyro simply walked behind Roan as he strolled by with the air of an Earl surveying his grounds.

The look on Spot Conlon's face when he caught sight of them caused Ugly to smile to herself. For a brief moment, an impression of utter shock passed across his face, his big eyes wide. He quickly replaced it with the stony and suspicious glare that Ugly recognized. The boys that had surrounded him speedily shuffled off to observe from a safer distance. Roan stopped barely two feet from Spot, and there was a universal intake of breath as all who watched wondered what he would do.

Roan took his cigarette out of his mouth and reached out his other hand. "Roan Xavier," he said, by way of introduction. Spot had fixed him with his wolf-like stare and didn't bat an eyelash as he reached out and took the hand and shook it firmly.

"Spot Conlon," he replied. Roan turned and sat down on some old crates. Spot sat across from him, keenly observing his every move. Roan continued to smoke silently. He regarded Spot with a somewhat amused expression, excited to see what he would do next.

"What business do you have here?" Spot asked imperiously. He had fully regained his composure and was flashing with that same spark Ugly had noticed at their first meeting. Roan was as cool as snow.

He slowly exhaled wispy smoke, not taking his eyes off the newsie leader. "I've heard about you. Your work in the borough is…infamous. So, naturally I wanted to meet you," Roan replied amicably.

Spot continued to regard him with suspicion. "That so?" He asked.

Roan nodded. "I heard about the strike. I was impressed." Roan lifted up his left leg and folded it under him, leaning back against a pole and smoking like he felt right at home. "I make it a point to know all the most important people in Brooklyn. If we align ourselves with the proper people, there is no end to what we can do, you agree?" He asked, tapping his ashes on the edge of the crate. Spot nodded slowly. "Well, you have made yourself one of those important people. So, I am here as an ambassador for my gang, pleading with you for an alliance." Roan smiled pleasantly.

Spot was quiet for a minute, thinking. Sure, he had his suspicions, but he couldn't just blow off the handle, call Roan a liar and tear his face off.

"So, are we at an accord?" Roan questioned.

"Yeah," Spot continued to eye him darkly; transmitting the message that he would be watching him, "we're at an accord."  
Roan smiled and stood up. The air was electric as they shook hands, sealing the deal. Even though an alliance had been stuck, all the observers had a queasy sense of foreboding. Roan turned and walked away; Ugly and Kyro fell dutifully behind. When they reached solid ground, Ugly turned for one last look. Spot Conlon still held his fiery, suspicious glare. Her lips curled in a smile, she almost felt proud of him.

That night, Ugly and Kyro were permitted to stay in Roan's room as his messengers reported back to him on the day's business dealings. Roan and Kyro shared some of the left over pot and Ugly sat in the corner, smoking cigarettes and feeling the odd one out, as usual. Lewis entered as some boy was delivering a message about a cock fight this Friday with some of the underground's big wigs. Lewis regarded Kyro and Ugly with a jealous glare, then sat nervously in the corner.

After the boy finished, Roan dismissed him. He turned to Lewis. "What are you here for?" He demanded.

Lewis squirmed uncomfortably. Ugly felt bad for him. Lately, Lewis seemed to be losing favor with Roan. Why, like most things with Roan, was a mystery. Lewis has been missing out on the big jobs and confined to mindless busy work. "I worked on the Stonewall property today," Lewis replied.

Roan sucked his perpetual cigarette. "That's fantastic, Lew, really marvelous," he drawled mockingly. His attitude transformed like the flick of a switch. "Did you sell it?" He growled.

"No."

"Show it?"

"No," Lewis' wide face was reddening.

Roan grabbed a knife and sharpener off his bedside table and began to sharpen the knife like it was flint and he was trying to start a fire; his eyebrows knit in sudden rage. "Did you do anything at all, Lewis? Did you do anything with the Stonewall property that I might give a fuck about?" he insisted.

Lewis' brow was sweaty. "We fixed the door," he answered timidly.

Roan stopped abruptly and grinned. He put down the sharpener. "Come here, Lewie," he requested softly. Lewis stood dutifully and approached Roan. "You've done such a good job today. I'm so proud of you," he whispered gently. "Now, let me see your hand." Lewis put out his hand quickly. He would do anything for Roan, and he wished to prove his allegiance. If he just obeyed, maybe Roan would favor him again. Roan drew his fingers along his hand, up to his wrist. He clamped down and slid the side of the knife into Lewis' open palm. Lewis trembled and Roan held tightly. "Is this knife sharp enough, Lew?" he pushed it deeper. Lewis' eyes began to tear. "Is it sharp enough?" blood ran from the wound and dripped to the floorboards.

Lewis' body shook eerily as he responded, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "Yeah, boss, it's sharp enough, it's sharp enough." Roan jerked the knife away and released Lewis' arm. Lewis pulled it in and cradled it to his chest. Roan wiped off the knife, then tossed Lewis the rag. He wrapped his battered hand.

Roan lifted his cigarette off the ashtray where he'd allowed it to rest during this little display. He took a level drag. "Lewis, you're my favorite, do you know that? My very favorite." Lewis looked redeemed. Ugly felt sick watching his face lighten under the praise. "You wanna come to Browze's cock fight this weekend? You're invited," he offered.

Lewis nodded. "Sure, boss," he responded calmly. Ugly felt like retching. She looked over at Kyro. As typical, He was staring off into the distance; what the hell was wrong with him anyway? "I better go," Lewis said, turning and heading out the door.

"Me, too," Ugly added nervously. She stood up and walked out behind Lewis.

She locked herself in her room. Her nerves were going haywire. She pulled out a bottle of whiskey and chugged it down, only to choke and spit most of it back up. She sat back and tried to breathe. Was this really her life?

Thursday afternoon, Ugly and Lewis were heading down to the docks together.

"I can't believe the boss wants ta invite this Conlon kid," Lewis fumed. The mark on his hand was pink and scabby. Ugly didn't respond. She didn't know what to say. She had no idea what Roan's plans were with the newsboy leader and she didn't dare ask.

It was another scorching day in the city, and Ugly felt strongly tempted to join some of the newsboys in the dirty river. As they walked along the planks, the boys recognized them and whispers abounded, but no one stopped them. They seemed to hold true to the alliance.

Ugly and Lewis found Spot Conlon on the edge of the docks, shooting a slingshot at bottles. He expertly pulled back and hit each one in succession. Ugly couldn't help but think of all the times she'd seen Roan blow a man dead with a smoking gun, and this guy had a slingshot? One of the boys who gathered around watching Spot's demonstration motioned their approach and Spot turned around. He smiled smugly, still proud from his perfect shots. "Whadda you want?" He demanded boldly.

Ugly looked at Lewis. He was glaring at Spot with obvious hatred. Ugly knew he envied Roan's sudden fascination with the little newsboy. She decided she had better do the talking. "We're here to extend an invitation on behalf of Roan," she stated. Spot was still processing the fact that she was a girl. Ugly was used to this in her line of work and waited patiently.

"An invitation to what?" Spot asked; rubbing the gold tip of a cane he'd just picked up.

"Some cock fight at Browse's," she explained, watching him with fascination. He was looking out at the horizon, and the golden light was living inside his unsettling eyes.

Spot turned and caught her in his gaze. "Browse's?" he asked. He seemed so innocent and vulnerable for a moment, with his big blue eyes and his baby face.

"Over on 9th, by Green Street," she responded lightly. He nodded. "A lot of Brooklyn people will be there, the big cocks, you know?"

"Sure thanks," he said, tracing his cane in the crease between the planks. She nodded and turned to go, surprised to find Lewis at her side. For a moment she'd forgotten anyone else was there.

Halfway up the docks, she suddenly remembered something. She turned and yelled, "it starts at ten!"

"Thanks!" Spot called back, bathed in the fading light.

As Lewis and Ugly walked home, she felt a strange calm. She only hoped it wasn't the calm before the storm.


	5. Chapter 5

This is turning out to be quite a "cocky" story. I probably won't update for a few days because I am going on vacation. If there is anything you don't like or do like about the story, please review!

Ugly felt hopelessly uncomfortable as she sat at a booth with Kyro, Lewis, Curlup and Hawk at Browze's cock fight. Dirty old men and boys were crowded around the arena as two plucky little cocks hammered each other amid screeches and flying feathers. Grubby looking males crowded around booths drinking, smoking and laughing wickedly together. Others rushed the bar, ordering pitchers of cold, foamy beer or glasses of hot whiskey. The hall was decorated with violently bright flags and streamers. Browze, who ran the joint, was Puerto Rican. He was holding court at the prime table, laughing it up with Roan and the rest of Brooklyn's underground royalty. Lewis sipped his beer, looking scalded as usual. Kyro was watching the cock fight with disquieting fascination and Hawk and Curlup were chatting animatedly, excited to have been invited at all.

Ugly scanned the crowd around her. The only other females were waitresses or brightly painted girls, hanging on to their men and looking bored. She took a sip of whiskey, enjoying the burning sensation as it rolled down her throat. She looked at Kyro. His silence was becoming maddening. Did he feel anything at all? She felt a hand brush her shoulder and turned, groping for her knife. She met Spot's glowing blue eyes. Two of his boys stood behind him, surveying the scene eagerly.

"Hey," he nodded.

"Hey," she replied. "Roan is"- she stopped as Roan appeared at Spot's side. He reached out his long fingers and they shook hands.

"Glad you could make it, Spotty-Boy," he said. "Come over here, there's some people I want you to meet. Your boys can stay here." Ugly felt twinge of rejection as Roan led Spot to the important table. What the fuck was he doing with Spot anyway?

Spot and Roan approached the busy table. A few of the men were making bets on the next match. Another was squeezing the breast of an amply endowed prostitute. They all looked up when Roan spoke. "Hey boys, I want to introduce you to someone," he pulled back his chair and sat down, taking a swig of the whiskey from a mug on the table. Spot sat down next to him, masking his feelings of awkwardness beneath his tough glower. "This is Spot Conlon. He's the newsboy leader who fucked Hearst and Pulitzer in the strike last summer." The men regarded him, sizing him up. Spot sat firm.

"Let's here it for fucking those rich dicks!" Browze drawled in a heavy Spanish accent. The entire table lifted their glasses in cheers. Spot picked up a random beer and took a swig with the others. It burned his throat and caused his eyes to water a little. It was whiskey.

Roan pulled a rolled cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. He offered one to Spot, who took it. As the rest of the table returned to their various conversations, Roan leaned in toward Spot and pointed each one out, describing their various merits. "…And that's Greco, he runs the Port 'O Call Bar and the Regency Hotel over on 8th, among other things, that's Flint, he's the best damn knife thrower below Queens, Klavio oversees the Brooklyn mob, that's Browze's, of course, he's one fucked up son of a bitch," Browze, who had been listening in, smiled at them.

"This boy is my special one. He is the príncipe. The príncipe," Browze slurred.

Roan rolled his eyes. "Those Puerto Rican's can't hold their liquor," he told Spot loudly.

"You!" Browze accused, pointing and laughing. He turned to Spot, grinning, then all of a sudden his eyes became strange and wild. "You keep an eye on this one. He will kill you. He killed my brother."

Roan looked at Browze darkly. "None of that Browzy. Guido was not your brother."

"He was like my brother," Browze insisted. Some of the other men at the table were watching out of the corners of their eyes.

"Guido was a loony fuck who killed himself. Killed himself, ya here me?" Roan said stiffly. Darkness hung over the table for a moment, conjured up by Roan's dark mood. Then it passed away and left no trace.

"I think Browzy needs another drink," Roan said amicably. He turned around in his chair and called to a waitress. "Senorita, Browze needs another whiskey, rápido!" she immediately dropped what she was doing and scurried to the bar to fulfill his request. Roan turned back to Spot who was watching him curiously. Roan shrugged and tapped the ash of his cigarette on the edge of a tray. "Where's Raj? I wanna put fifty on this next one," he leaned in toward Spot conspiratorially, "you need to bet on this one, it's a sure thing."

Raj came over and took their bets. When the match was about to start, Roan got up to watch at the fence and Spot followed. The crowds automatically parted as he approached. Spot couldn't help but be impressed. This was the kind of power he aspired to, not just over Brooklyn, but everywhere. Roan put his right foot on the lower rung of the fence and rested his arms on the top. He puffed his cigarette as two boys arrived with cages and slid them on either side of the ring. In one cage, a big, black rooster was jumping wildly against the gate. In the other, a gold crested rooster strutted back and forth. The bell rang and the cocks were released, hurtling maniacally toward each other.

In the wee hours of the nights the fights had ceased and the festivities were fizzling. Spot had loosened nearly off the handle with the help of whiskey and cigarettes and Roan was fairly smashed as well. They had returned to the table where Ugly and the rest of their collective gang members had spent most of the night.

"So, Spotty boy, whaddya think of my Brooklyn?" Roan asked. He was leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table, legs crossed at the ankles, feebly smoking yet another cigarette.

"There ain't no better place on this earth then my Brooklyn," Spot replied, tapping ash off his cigarette. He was sitting in his chair with his shoulders kind of slumped, perfectly relaxed. Roan craned his head back and blew smoke into the air peacefully.

Ugly was watching the two of them warily. One night together and they were as thick as thieves. Lewis was downright pissed off. Who did this Conlon kid think he was anyway?

"So, Conlon," Lewis smeared. "What is it you _newsies _do exactly?" He spit out the title like it was a nasty curse word.

Spot shot him an annoyed look. "Whatever the fuck we want, dumb ass," he replied.

"Fucking right!" Roan agreed lifting his glass and clinking it against Spot's.

A young prostitute with nearly exposed breasts laid her delicate fingers on Roan's shoulders. "Can I trouble you for the time tonight?" She propositioned in a husky voice. Roan dropped his feet to the floor and regarded her with a look of absolute abhorrence.

"What are you, new?" Curlup called out. The hooker retracted her hand and backed off.

"Don't ever touch me again, you dirty bitch," Roan snarled gutturally. "You're lucky I don't cut your fucking hand off," he threatened, looking like he might just do it anyway. Her face blanched and she turned and walked quickly away. Roan turned back to the tables. "I don't do whores," he mumbled to Spot by way of explanation.

"What about this girl?" Spot asked, nodding toward Ugly. Ugly was heated by the question. Sometimes, she wondered if anyone even noticed she was a girl.

Roan looked across the table at her with his dark eyes. "No, never this one. She's special," he replied. An image flashed before her mind. It was of Lewis cradling his bleeding hand as Roan whispered, _Lewis, you're my favorite, do you know that? My very favorite._ Roan continued to watch her and Ugly dropped her eyes, suddenly afraid. When she finally looked up again, she noticed Spot's eyes were still on her. He held her gaze for a moment before looking away.

Roan lifted his shirt and scratched his hard stomach, revealing a path of dark hair leading down into his trousers. He stood up. "I better get going. I got some business to attend to," he said. "Spot," they shook hands, "always a pleasure. Don't stay out too late, boys," he warned his gang before heading out the door.

Silence fell across the table after the slight deflation at Roan's exit. Spot continued to smoke, staring fixedly at the table with an intense look in his clear, blue eyes.

"Just what exactly do you think your doing with Roan?" Lewis slurred stupidly.

Spot shot him a look. "Shut up, Lewd," Ugly ordered, irritated.

"No, I mean it, I really wanna know," Lewis was starting to get worked up. "I mean, you're a fucking little newsboy, for chrissake. This is a joke!" Spot felt a flash of rage. Without thinking, he picked up the nearly empty mug beside him and pitched it at Lewis with his perfect aim. The mug cracked against his head, splitting down the middle. Lewis cried out in pain and grabbed his face. "You fucking little bitch," Lewis jumped to his feet to retaliate, but Spot was up first. He whipped his slingshot out of his side pocket and took aim. Lewis froze. "A slingshot? You carry a fucking slingshot?" Lewis mocked.

"You're not carrying anything, Lewd," Ugly commented. Lewis looked at her, one eye swelling beneath his hand. A look of absolute betrayal caused the revealed side of his face to droop visibly.

He turned back to Spot. "He'll get sick of you, you know? And then what? And then whatever the fuck he wants. He's the one in control, and don't you forget it. He's always the one in control. He'll get sick of you. And trust me, it's a long way to fall," Lewis finished delivering his little speech and left them in silence.

Spot carefully tucked his slingshot back into his pocket, but kept the marble out, rolling it back and forth on the table beneath his fingers. He didn't care what that weirdo said, no one was in control of him _but_ him.

Still to come…

Will Spot remind us why we love him so much?

Will Ugly get in touch with her feminine side?

Will Kyro actually speak?

Will Roan stop being so strangely delicious?

Was the cock fighting a clever bit of foreshadowing, or just another way for the young authoress to work "cock" into the story?

Either way, lots of surprises are in store…


	6. Chapter 6

I am back! And immediately updating, this fanfic thing is fun! Thanks tons for all the reviews, I really, really appreciate them! Anyways, this chapter examines some different stuff, so tell me what you think!

"Kyro, wake up, we have to go," Ugly was in the Lodging House Bunkroom standing over Kyro, who was sprawled across his bottom bunk. A few other boys were hanging around and watching Ugly attempt to rouse him. Ugly glanced around self consciously and kicked the bed softly. She always felt awkward communicating with Kyro in public, like everyone knew what happened behind closed doors. Kyro rolled over to face her, his eyes were glassy and she felt a strange chill. He mumbled incoherently in response.

"He's completely drugged out," Curlup commented. Ugly looked over at Curlup, sitting up on his bunk. She felt her face turn red. She was sure he knew that they fucked; that she fucked a practically mute, cold, drug addict. She looked back at Kyro who had rolled in on himself with his back to her. "I could go with you," Curlup offered. Ugly hated to do a job alone, but she definitely didn't want to go with Curlup. He was a phony, self-serving little asswipe.

She gave one last desperate look to Kyro. She always felt safer with him on a job, but he would be out of commission for a while. "Its fine," she told Curlup, "don't worry about it."

She set out into the dark Brooklyn Streets towards the East End of Jamaica Bay. She kept the cold metal of her knife beneath her fingers, counting on it to make her feel safe. The streets were crowded with nighttime revelers, but she didn't trust herself to take the more deserted alleys, not when she already felt so uneasy. She had forgotten her cowboy hat in her haste to avoid Curlup's offer, so she bowed her head slightly while still keeping her eyes open. She felt a strange sense of foreboding. Everything around her seemed high-pitched and feverish. The further she walked, the more she felt that she was being watched. She couldn't help stopping every now and then to scan the crowd. She found herself become more and more nervous as each search produced no results. She was sure she was being watched. She quickened her pace, felt sweat prickle on her brow. She fumbled into her pants pocket and pulled out a cigarette; stopping to light it beneath a lamp with shaky hands. What was wrong with her? She dropped the match.

"Jesus, you sure seem nervous," she heard a voice beside her and turned to see Spot Conlon soaked in the glow of the streetlight.

"Have you been following me?" She accused angrily.

Spot shrugged. "I didn't realize it'd get ya so worked up," He lifted the corners of his lips, his hands resting coolly in his pockets. "I thought you was Roan's rough and tough little girl," his superior smile was not doing well to calm her.

"I have a name, you know," she said. She absolutely hated being seen as Roan's little slave, perhaps because it rang so close to the truth.

"What is it, by the way?" Spot asked.

She took a deep breath. "Ugly." Spot smiled.

"You're right, that's a whole lot better," he commented. Ugly turned and walked off; Spot fell in next to her. "So, Ugly," he smiled at the name, "where is it that a little girl like you is going this time of night?" he stopped for a second to let a woman pass and then caught up again to walk beside her.

"None of your damn business," Ugly replied.

"Fine," Spot shrugged agreeably. He continued to walk beside her. She quickened her pace. He did too. She slowed and he followed.

She quickened again, sighing with exasperation. "Look," she said. "This is really cute and all. Maybe we could do a little vaudeville act or head down to the ice cream parlor later. But right now, I'm on a job. I might get sent to jail or killed or worse. It's not funny and it's not fun, so I suggest you get back to your honest paper peddling and leave me alone."

Spot looked a little taken aback, but continued walking. She stopped and looked at him. "I just don't think a girl should be alone in the city at night," he explained. Ugly felt a foreign emotion. She had never had anyone try to protect her before. She wasn't sure if she liked it.

"Fine, please yourself," she gave in and continued walking.

They walked in silence for a few blocks. The city buzzed with the usual nighttime activity. Ugly hated to admit that she felt calmed by his presence. It wasn't as frightening as being alone.

"So, do you think you could tell me where we're going?" Spot asked after they'd walked a ways.

"Don't push your luck." Ugly responded coldly. Spot fell silent and she regretted her comment. She must sound so strange to him. She wasn't used to communicating with normal people; she spit insults at Lewis, Curlup and the other boys, rarely spoke a word to the silent Kyro and took orders from the erratic Roan.

They approached the docks in silence. They left the meaningless bustle of the lighted world and traveled into the darkness of the underworld. As Spot followed her through the narrow, winding alleys of the slums close to the bay, she wondered what she was going to do with him. If he insisted on coming, obviously he would find out where she was going. Would Roan be angry? She wasn't sure how he felt about Spot; if he was in or out, so to speak. She could threaten him with her knife and make him leave, but she didn't feel sure about that. It was too risky, and besides, she didn't really want to be alone.

As they neared the desired location, she halted and took a deep breath. "Listen Spot, I don't mind you being here. I mean, you might be able to help me out and all. But I don't think Roan should know about it, just because…because I don't know if he'd like it, you understand?" she asked him, her teeth chilled by the cold bay air.

Spot regarded her stiffly. His pride was being called into question here. He certainly didn't feel he should have to hide things from anyone to avoid trouble.

Ugly recognized this. "It would really help _me_ out, is all," she emphasized.

This was a better tact. Spot nodded. "Sure," he said, with his trademark smug smile.

"Good," she nodded briskly. She walked over to a wall and peered up a street, scanning for any sign of the bulls. The street was quiet, washed in bluish color.

Spot leaned over next to her. "So now can you tell me what exactly it is we're doing?" he whispered in her ear, peering over her shoulder down the deserted alley.

"Its just a routine case, easy, just gotta make sure the bulls ain't out and about," she explained.

"All my questions are answered," Spot mumbled, following behind her as she walked cautiously up the streets.

They reined in at a door below a sign that pronounced "Wicker Inn" in crusty black letters. Ugly scanned the streets a final time, nothing. "Follow me," she said, feeling a slight thrill. It was fun taking on a virgin, especially since he had no idea what was going on. She enjoyed holding that over a smug little boy like Spot. She carefully opened the door and he followed her into the lobby.

A bearded, dark-skinned man blinked awake in the dimly lit lobby. He sat at attention. "Who's there?" He demanded groggily.

"We're here to see one of your tenants," Ugly explained.

"What the hell you visiting tenants for, this time of night?" He questioned, obviously distressed at having been awakened from his nap.

Ugly sighed, he better not make this complicated. "One of your tenants in room 14," she clarified.

"Damn bitch," he grumbled, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up. "Well, get on up there." He waved his hand, mumbling under his breath as he settled in.

Ugly and Spot headed up the narrow, twisted stairway and down a dark, eerie hall. They passed by room 10, 11, 12. A subtle light radiated beneath the door of room 14. Ugly knocked a rhythm on the door.

Spot's eyes darted around. He felt a strange thrill, he was ready for anything. The door curled open revealing a curvy Spanish woman in a white nightgown. Anything but this. She had thick, dark wavy hair and big, heavily lashed eyes. Her nipples were visibly beneath the gauzy material of her negligee. Ugly heard Spot's sudden intake of breath. She felt an inexplicable wave of jealousy. Ugly wasn't bad looking, but she certainly didn't cause the immediate visceral impact that this woman's beauty did.

The woman narrowed her brown eyes. "Roan sent you?" She asked.

Ugly nodded. "We looking for Manuel," she said. Spot was still gawking.

"Emmanuelle, that's me," she replied, motioning for them to come inside with a delicate hand. Ugly was ironically surprised. Ugly and Spot followed her into the poorly lit room. There was a mattress on the floor, a chair, clothing scattered about and a little stove in the corner where a kettle simmered. Emmanuelle walked over to the stove and removed the kettle, pouring a dark, hot liquid into a cup. "You want some?" She asked, turning to them. "Cafeza," she explained, "it is the only way I could stay awake to wait for you." Ugly and Spot both accepted her offer and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Spot was still looking at Emmanuelle in a strange way. Ugly choose to ignore him.

Emmanuelle sat down on the chair, crossing her legs. She stirred her cafeza with a wooden stick. Then she reached in her pockets and pulled out a little maroon satchel. She pulled out a leaf and crushed it between her fingers, letting the remains fall into her cup. "I have a long night," she offered as explanation, taking a trepid sip. "So, you are here for Roan, who are you? I didn't expect so young," she commented.

"Spot Conlon," Spot said proudly, as if she would be impressed by the name.

"Ugly," Ugly said. Emmanuelle nodded slowly. Ugly took a sip of the strong drink, anxious to leave. She'd thought this was going to be a simple in and out deal. She was annoyed by this woman, holding them up with coffee or whatever this was. She was annoyed with the way Spot looked as if he would stay forever.

"So," Emmanuelle began, staring distantly at the wall above their heads, "how is Roan?"

"He's fine," Ugly responded, before Spot could spit out some stupid response.

Emmanuelle sighed. "I though maybe he would come," she seemed disappointed and deflated. Ugly looked over at Spot, hoping he would notice this. Obviously, she was interested in Roan, not Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn newsies. Spot didn't look like as if that registered. Ugly was getting annoyed.

"Its late…we really ought to get going," Ugly said rudely.

"Of course," the women said, jarred from her repose. She already seemed buzzed off her drink. She walked over to a suitcase and bent over, shuffling beneath her clothes and pulling out a large sack. She dropped it at Ugly's feet. "You tell Roan that's straight from Colombia, the very best," she said. Ugly untied the twine around the mouth and opened the bag, revealing glowing white powder.

"Cocaine? Can't you get that everywhere?" Spot asked.

"Not like this," the girl replied defensively. "It is the best." She was starting to get wired. Her eyes were shining and her limbs seemed to snap as she moved. "And for Roan it is free. Tell him to come and say thank you. Tell him not to send children to me next time. Or he won't get anything." Ugly felt chilled at her high intensity. She seemed transformed. Ugly put down her drink and hopped off the mattress.

"We'd better go," Ugly said. Spot stood up behind her. Emmanuelle's eyes were shining and Ugly fingered her knife. "Thank you," she said quickly, heading for the door.

"You tell Roan to thank me!" She called after them as they exited. "You tell him to come down here and thank me! You tell him!"

Once they had walked for a bit in the cool streets, Ugly felt her nerves beginning unwind. "That lady was crazy," Ugly commented.

"She was pretty," Spot said. Ugly sighed. Fucking boys.

Will boys ever change?

Will Kyro sober up and spout philosophy?

Will Roan find out about Spot accompanying Ugly on her little adventure? Will he be overjoyed?

Will Spot kick ass?

Will poor Ugly ever find somebody to love?

Will I ever tire of their little dramas? Not likely…A bientot mes amis!


	7. Chapter 7

This one is quite short but foreboding dun dun dun DUN!

Ugly and Spot split up a few blocks from the Lodging House. With each approaching step, Ugly's stomach contorted in painful knots. What would she tell Roan? If she told him about Spot, he might be furious, but if she lied and he found out about it later, she would most certainly be dead. And yet it seemed likely that she would be dead if she did tell.

She walked up the steps in the morbid quiet of the stairwell. The bag of coke was heavy in her hands. She walked with slow, considered steps. Every movement felt deliberate. Could this be her last walk up these stairs? She would have to lie. There was no way she could tell Roan that she had betrayed him by doing a job with his supposed enemy.

When she reached the door, Ugly took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She could lie. She lied to herself all the time.

Roan was laying back his bed with a long opium pipe resting in his mouth. She entered and he slowly pulled himself up against the headboard. He had that faraway, dreamy look that accompanied his being high. His hair was tousled and knotted.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured sweetly, placing the pipe on his bedside table. She approached him determinedly, sucking back all fears. He looked so sweet and innocent sitting groggily on his large bed. She had nothing to fear. She held the bag of coke out to him.

"Here," was all she could manage to say.

"Put it down, over there," he motioned to the corner, lighting a cigarette. He fumbled with the match. He was really, really high. He dropped the match. "Baby, will you light this for me?" He tossed her the matches. She sat down on the edge of the bed and struck a match. She leaned over, held the burning match out until it kissed the tip of the cigarette hanging from his mouth. She felt him suck back and it lit. She blew out the match. "So, how was the pick up, no problems?" He looked at her. His dark eyes were softened by the drugs. He seemed almost vulnerable. He was Roan. Her Roan. No matter what happened, she knew she could count on him to come out on top. She had to align herself with that, with that one sure thing.

"I went with Spot Conlon," she confessed. Roan's eyes widened in momentary surprise and then he continued smoking calmly, just as before. "It was just, Kyro was all drugged out and I was scared to go alone and I thought he could help me and I didn't think it was such a big deal since it was such an easy job and…" Ugly stopped. She had no more "ands." She looked at Roan, her entire body was buzzing with fear, and yet he sat, smoking away as if nothing was amiss.

"How'd he do?" He asked finally.

Ugly shrugged. "He has a crush on that woman," she replied, somewhat stupidly. Roan smiled.

"You're a special girl," Roan said. He reached out with his right hand and grabbed the end of one of her loose blonde curls. He tugged it gently and watched it bounce back into place. "You're beautiful and you're perfect. Don't let anyone tell you different." She looked into his striking face, into the power that sizzled behind it. She willed herself to believe. He took a long drag from his cigarette. "Go downstairs, get some sleep," he directed. She nodded and left him in his dark room.

Ugly entered her bedroom feeling unsettled but unable to explain why. She jumped a little as she saw a body rise up from her bed. She recognized the yellow eyes beneath the yellow hair, it was Kyro. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Ugly began to undress, ignoring him. It was his fault she'd ended up with Spot Conlon, his fault that Roan was probably disappointed in her, his fault that she might be punished.

"I'm sorry I missed the job," he said. His voice sent a chill up her spine. She hadn't heard it in ages. It was soft and low with a tiny twang. She turned to look at him, wearing only her button-up boys t-shirt. His sweet, young face was repentant. She walked over and sat next him on the mattress. He reached out and stoked the side of her neck, brushing back her long, unruly hair. She shivered. She still felt uneasy.

"Why can't I just find nice people!" She exclaimed, jumping off the mattress. She stood in the corner, facing him with arms crossed. He looked at her, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and to took a slow, careful drag.

"Don't be stupid Ugly, there ain't no nice people. We're all of us light and dark and goddamn fucked up," he exhaled a stream of smoke. "All of us, so get used to it."

Ugly glared at him. All this silence and this is what he chooses to say to her? To lecture her on the dual nature of humanity? "Some darker then others," she hissed. He flashed a look that bordered on anger. It was the closest she had come to seeing emotion on his stoic face. He stood up and walked out the door.

The door fell shut and Ugly lay down on her bed. She was ugly inside and out. She was completely unlovable and unwanted. As loneliness filled her emptiness with pain, but she forced herself to stop it. She sat up in her bed. This was not who she was. She was Ugly Sendim, feared and powerful member of the most dreaded gang in all of Brooklyn. And she was going to show everyone how powerful she was. She would show them all, and then they would love her. Love her and fear her.


	8. Chapter 8

This is a short one, things are starting to get dark…sniff. sniff.

Ugly hated how everyone was looking at her as she walked the street. She had washed her face until her sink shone and her hair was clean and shiny. She was wearing an old pair of pants that were a little tight in the ass.

She had decided that she needed to use her femininity to help garner power. She hadn't expected to get so much attention, it was uncomfortable. She was walking in the hot afternoon streets. But it would be dark where she was going. Roan had sent her to the Den of Thieves to collect his fees. The Den of Thieves was a rabid, throbbing universe beneath the streets of Harlem. It had been an old sewer and, according to rumors, was once a catacomb. It certainly smelled like one.

Ugly felt some trepidation as she followed the twisting path through dirty, narrow allies. She would almost take the unwanted stares in exchange for the desertion of these streets. She reached the back entrance. It was a short cement block with a square opening lined with bars. She slid sideways through the slim opening between the bars. She lowered her body, holding tightly to the bars and groping with her feet for the ladder. She found the rungs and crept slowly down into the darkness.

She walked through the damp underground streets, following the directions to the Den. If she took a wrong turn, she could end up in the functioning sewer and…well, that would just be fucking gross.

Left, left, third right…Jesus! A dark figure leapt from one of the crannies. Ugly jumped, although she had been expecting this. She knew better than to grab for a weapon.

The sewer line was wickedly dark, lit only by the random openings into the street above.

"Who are you?" the figure asked. It was a young boy.

"Ithtar Siiem Rathana," Ugly spoke the code that should signify her relation to Cru. It was silent for a moment and Ugly feared that the code had changed, in which case she would probably be killed by this overeager lackey.

"Come with me," the voice said. She felt a hand circle her own and he led her through the dark.

The followed a winded path for several minutes in silence, interrupted only by a few sentries who demanded who they were. Finally, Ugly could see a light at the end of a tunnel. Flickering, reddish light spread a wash of color across their path. They turned the corner and entered the Den of Thieves.

It resembled an underground gypsy camp, lit by torches and some rigged electric light. Bright colored flags decorated the stone walls and the enormous space was filled with tents. Young people buzzed around. Dark skinned boys and girls with long, curly hair. Tiny children squealed and raced around. The Den of Thieves was like an alternate universe, its own world beneath the city.

Ugly was finally able to see the boy who held her hand so firmly. He was young with blonde hair and a freckled nose. He led her through the space to a set of stairs at its head. He pulled her past the guards and up to the top. The opening was blocked off by a red curtain.

"I leave you here," the boy said dutifully, disappearing down the stairs. Ugly threw back the curtain. Cru was sitting alone in his dank sitting room. He was gazing out at the rest of the camp through a one of the holes in the wall. He sat on a red velvet chair with curved wooden feet, smoking a long pipe. His dark hair was spiked in his traditional Mohawk with three long, small braids at the nape of his neck.

"They said a gorgeous blonde was coming to see me, I knew it had to be you," he said in his guttural voice, turning to look at her with his small, dark eyes. "Sit down," he offered.

She sat. "You know why I am here," she said. He nodded.

"And you know why I didn't send the money," he replied.

Ugly thought for a minute. "No, I don't," she said finally.

Cru stood up, placing his pipe on a table. "Then I'll explain it to you…Spot Conlon," he said, walking over to a cupboard and looking at the liquor bottles lined up inside.

"What about Spot Conlon?" Ugly demanded fiercely. She was not in a good mood.

"Rumor is," Cru said, fingering a green bottle, "he doesn't have to pay," he pulled the bottle out and uncorked it, "Rumor is, Roan's gone soft," he poured the yellow liquid into a glass. He looked at her and took a painful sip of the drink.

Ugly stood up. "Is that what you think? Spot Conlon is one step away from having his throat pulled out of his ass, you understand? Don't fucking worry about Spot, he'll get what's coming to him. Just don't you worry," even Ugly was surprised at the anger in her voice. The directionless anger and hatred. Cru was taken aback. Ugly lowered her voice. "Do I have to remind you what happened last time you didn't pay? Because I can promise you, it will be worse this time. Much worse," Ugly threatened.

Ugly made her way back through the city with a pocket full of spoils. An escort was waiting for her at the tunnel, but before she reached it, she heard a familiar voice.

"Sendim, is that you?" Ugly turned to see Ryna, a small lipped, skinny blonde she'd known over a year ago. "Oh my God! It is! What are you doing here?" Ugly cringed inwardly. She really couldn't deal with people right now. Not that she ever liked girls, they were so fakely excited and secretly jealous.

"I'm on a job," Ugly said, trying to dismiss her as quickly as possible.

"For Roan?" Jesus Christ, Ugly had forgotten that Ryna had had a thing with Roan. Who hadn't? The longing tone in her voice made Ugly sick. She nodded. Ryna sighed. "I don't get it, what does he keep you around for?" Wow, way to speak your mind.

Ugly decided not to merit that question with a response. "Well, I've really got to get going," Ugly said, turning away.

"He hasn't slept with you, has he? That's why you're still around," she was crying, Ugly couldn't believe it. This was so not the day for this.

"Yeah, that's what it is, you fucking whore!" She spat back. As she walked away, she couldn't believe herself. At the tunnel, she took the hand of the freckled-nose boy. His skin was soft and alive. They walked into the dark. _Into the dark_, Ugly thought, _that's where I belong_.

Will Ugly take over the world or will someone just give her a "don't worry, be happy" sticker?

Will Spot's throat really be pulled out of his ass? That's pretty disgusting.

What is the deal with Roan and Ugly anyway?

And most important, who will get pretty ol' Brooklyn in the end?


	9. Chapter 9

This is a short one, but Spot's yummy, so yeah!

When Ugly reached the streets again, the sun was setting. She felt strange and unhappy, so she followed it. She followed the sun as it yellowed the sky until she reached the docks. She thought it was strange that every time she visited the docks, the sun was setting. And Spot Conlon's blue eyes were always glowing in the yellow. He was there now, standing on the planks, shooting marbles at bottles lined up along the edge. His back was arched, his arm muscles tight as he pulled and released with deadly accuracy. Pop, pop, pop, the glasses shattered one by one and the shards glistened in the sunlight as the fluttered into the East River.

Ugly watched him, a boy at the edge of a dock lit by the glittering yellow river. He was pretty. The last bottle busted and he wiped his brow and turned. He noticed her and gave her an unsure smile, walking towards her. With the light gushed behind him from the sun's last stand and his sweet, young face, he looked almost angelic. Ugly's breath caught in her throat. He was very, very pretty.

"What are you doin' here?" He asked wryly. He stopped a few feet from her. Ugly could feel his body crackling with some kind of strange energy. What was wrong with her? Maybe it was because she hadn't been with Kyro since their little tiff. Maybe it was because she had been so down in the dumps lately. Either way, her sudden overpowering urge to press her pelvis against his was very disturbing, not to mention inconvenient.

She shrugged. "Nothing official," she croaked. Jeez, this was embarrassing. She cleared her throat. "So, how are you?" She asked. His eyes were boring into her.

"Fine," he responded suspiciously. He continued to look at her. She wished he would stop, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. "You look different," he commented. She'd forgotten about her special attention to hygiene, and the fact that you could pretty much see her nipples through her t-shirt. Opps.

"Yeah?" She responded, not sure what to say.

He nodded. He looked her up and down. Was it just her, or did he pause a little long at her lips? "You look pretty," his voice was slightly husky. His eyes were boring a hole in her, she felt helpless and somewhat damsel-in-distressy. Ugly's ears were ringing. His lips were hanging open.

He was looking at her lips. There was no doubt. Ugly was suddenly very aware that this inexplicable feeling that she was experiencing was mutual. That, for some reason, he was moving closer. So close, she could count his eyelashes, so close she could feel his breath, warm, so close, she could see deep down into the deepest blues in his eyes and the yellow light that reflected there, the yellow light that lived there. His lips were like a soft pillow after a long day. They closed around hers, and held hers. She opened her mouth and let him inside. There mouths played against each other. She liked his mouth. It was sweet and gentle. She wanted to live there. He deepened the kiss and as he pushed against her, she felt the yellow light tingle on her lips and travel down her throat, into her heart. She pushed back, wanting more. She felt drawn to him, and as they kissed she felt his light bond them. He pulled her against him, and the desire was overwhelming. But this time, it brought fear. She pushed him away, suddenly. He stumbled back and looked at her, dazed and surprised. He had a sleepy, stupid look on his pretty face.

"I can't handle this," she sputtered. He stepped toward her, gently. She turned and ran. Her feet pounding across the planks, onto the streets.

"Wait!" He yelled. She ran faster. Her body was buzzing, she wanted to turn around, to run back to him and dissolve in his touch. This was very, very inconvenient.

Will Ugly cede to these perfectly natural procreation urges? (If she doesn't, can I?)

How will Roan feel about that?

How will Kyro feel about there?

Seriously though. Can I?

A bientot, mes amis...


	10. Chapter 10

Ugly was smart enough to know that sex ruins everything. In fact, it was exactly these types of situations that she had tried to avoid. But now that the box was opened, her body was racked with violent emotions. She was charging through the streets with nowhere to go. One minute, she was in the seventh circle of heaven, licking her lips and tasting his mouth. The next, her heart was clenched in guilt in her betrayal of Roan, who, in spite of everything, was her rock, her own personal savior from them lonely, purposeless life she had once led. Other times, she questioned Spot's motives, was he using her to get to Roan? Why would he kiss her? He couldn't possibly be attracted to her. She was a stone cold bitch.

These and other not so comforting thoughts fought for attention in her frail mind. It began to get cold and dark and Ugly wanted to go home. She was halfway to the Lodging House when she realized she could never go home again. She couldn't lie to Roan and if he found out…well, she had a pretty good idea he wouldn't be too happy. Ugly turned around. Then she stopped again. Why should he care who she kisses? For all the rumors that circulated, he seemed to like Spot. And anyway, its not like she just had to come out and tell him. I mean, unless he specifically asked "did you make out with Spot and imagine him placing you in various compromising positions?", she really wasn't exactly lying anyway.

With this reassuring thought glued to her mind, she made her way into the Lodging House and up the stairs to Roan's room. She entered, forgetting to knock in her preoccupation. The room was dark and her eyes slowly adjusted. She heard Roan moving in his bed and watched his form take shape as he sat up in bed, nestled among white sheets. He reached over to the bedside table and lit a cigarette. It glowed in the darkness.

"I was beginning to wonder about you," his voice was dry and raspy.

Ugly cleared her throat. "I got held up," she explained. She felt strange, sort of buzzed. Maybe it was leftovers from Spot. Or maybe kissing Spot had turned her into a nymphomaniac, but something about Roan's naked torso in the dark was pretty fucking sexy. "I got the dues, though," she added.

"Bring them over here," he said, casually blowing smoke into the air. Ugly approached the bed and as she did, a thought flashed through her head. A thought that had never entered her head before. A thought that really, really didn't belong there. It was more of an image really. It happened very quickly. It involved the white sheets and Roan's sweaty torso. The rest wasn't very clear, but it definitely made Ugly's stomach drop to the floor. She gave him the bag of money. He tossed it aside without counting it. "I can't sleep. I don't see the point, really," he moved onto his second cigarette. He struck the match and held it to his face to light the cigarette. The light cast strange shadows and he looked up at Ugly with bright, shiny eyes. "Do you?" he asked. She was confused about what exactly he meant.

She shook her head. "I don't see any point at all," she whispered.

"No, you don't," Roan responded. He took a long drag and thought for a moment. "Baby, I'm gonna tell you something and I want you to listen, okay?" she nodded. Roan took another drag and then said, "this is your life, it's the only thing that's truly yours, so you better fucking love it, okay?" he looked at her. His dark eyes glowing. She was transfixed by him. The incredible Roan. She couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it. But there was something about him that made you want. Something strong and powerful and immovable that made you feel that he could save you. that he could protect you. She wanted that power, she wanted that strength. She wanted to jump on the bed and throw of the sheets and put that power inside her. Good Lord, maybe she was a nympho.

What madness will Ugly's sexual awakening reck?

How will she choose between these two powerful sex gods?

Will there be a final show down?

Will things keep getting crazier?

That last one seems likely. You should probably comment because you will get good karma, and let me know if I have lost it completely or just mostly. Thanks for reading! Luvs ya, moi


	11. Chapter 11

He was bent over her, his muscles stretching across his arms and back. He licked her like a cat and she purred. But something was wrong. The pit in her stomach was beginning to twist and swell into a monster of its own. She tried to struggle but her body felt heavy and immovable. Roan looked up at her, grinning and a forked tongue slithered out between his teeth. She was scared. She wanted to run but there was some stronger will that kept her down. She was sinking lower. As she felt her chest collapse from the sheer force of it all, she was stung by a pinprick of light. She wanted someone, she wanted to run to him. But she couldn't remember who. She searched her mind but it refused to move, as if the gears had rusted together. And she was sinking, sinking.

Ugly awoke in the clench of an icy cold sweat. She was in dark and shadowy room, and she curled in on herself fearfully. After a few panicked moments, her breathing calmed and she realized she was in her own bedroom. Suddenly, she heard movement coming from the left corner. She slipped her fingers under her chemise and slid her knife out of its garter holder with sweaty fingers.A figure rose from the shadows and Ugly held her knife out with a shaky hand.

"Put that thing down, you're gonna hurt yourself," a soft, southern-inflected voice whispered. Kyro sat down on the bed next to her and carefully slid the knife out of her fingers. Ugly let him. Her body began to shake. He looked at her, his yellow eyes soft with concern. He put a hand on her vibrating shoulder and the echoes of her shivers traveled up his arm. He looked at her in way that clearly asked, "what's wrong?"

"I hate my life. I hate you. I hate Roan. I just want a nice boy, a good boy," Ugly poured out pathetically.

Kyro gave her a sharp look and sighed. "When are you going to understand that there are no nice boys"-

"Yes there are!" Ugly cried out. Why did talking to Kyro make he feel like a two year old? He was so "wise" and self-important. And Roan, too. They sat around smoking and tripping all day, and apparently that qualified them as fucking geniuses. And she just there stupid little girl sidekick, who still believed in unicorns.

"Like who?" Kyro demanded, challenging her with his amber eyes. Ugly nearly spoke the name that had rested quietly on her lips since yesterday afternoon. Fortunately, she stopped herself just in time and looked away. She could still feel the remains of the kiss camped out on her lips. She pushed her upper and lower lips together; she wasn't ready to lose them. Kyro's eyes narrowed suspiciously and Ugly felt her insides cower at his penetrating gaze. What if he really did know everything?

Ugly sat on the edge of her bed, eyes trained to the wall, challenging Kyro to speak so she could blatantly ignore him. He could go live in his colorless world, where everyone was a disciple of the devil and whoever did it best was permitted to impart his superior wisdom on to lesser beings. She knew better. The promise of the kiss rested on her lips like a song. She let it sing to her as Kyro rose and left without a word.

Kyro entered Roan's dim bedroom as the daylight began to trespass through the cracks in the shutters. Roan was carving the wooden handle of a blade, a cigarette dangling from his pouty lips. He looked up when Kyro entered and gave his classic grin, then returned to work. Kyro sat down on a chair and lit up. They sat in silence. Kyro couldn't help but feel a warm, peaceful sensation surround his heart. This was the closest to family he had ever come. And he hated to think that someday soon, it might just be two. The image of her pure face flashed through his mind. Her eyes, that tried so hard to be dark, but always shone with an innocent hope. Her quiet, virginal fear that lit her eyes when he tried to go too far on those many nights they'd kissed and caressed in her bed. If she left, who would kiss her then? Would he know to tread softly, even when she didn't? Would he love her for her innocence as well as her fear? Would her protect her and keep her in tact?

_And what will I do when I can't?_ Kyro thought to himself. Kyro looked to Roan, who was bent over his work in deep concentration. "We're losing her," he mumbled, almost imperceptibly.

"I know," Roan breathed back.

Are there any nice boys? And, if so, where can I find them? Be specific.

Do drugs really make you wiser, or do they just make you think you're wiser?

Will Roan and Kyro let their sister in crime go without a fight?

Is Ugly justified in believing Spot is her saving angel? Would he look cute with a little pair of wings? Or just fruity?

Remember people, what goes around comes around, that's right people, karma. This may just be a rumor (or something vaguely resembling that devil-sent chain mail) but I've heard that people who review get all kinds of crazy good karma. I would tell you the story of my Aunt's Uncle's something or other several times removed (and once forcibly) and how after she reviewed a Star Wars-Breakfast a Tiffany's crossover and a week later mysteriously found buried treasure, but then I would be lying, and that might bring bad karma. Anyway, have a nice day! A bientot mes amis!


	12. Chapter 12

When dealing with a person like Roan, it becomes difficult to extract the truth from the myth. Suffice to say, he came into the world with the sort of reckless confidence that placed all who he encountered at risk. His tremendous aura of inner power imbued him with a presence that could suffocate. Everyone was aware of him, whether they liked it or not.

This fact was painfully obvious as he sat at a card table at the Regency Hotel, slouching with a bowler cap over his eyes and an endless stream of smoke crawling out from his mouth. Every person in the crowded hotel bar stole furtive glances at him, and not a few bubbled over with conflicting emotions.

One of those people was Cru, who sat with him and a few other Brooklyn hot shots at a poker table. Cru despised Roan with a sweet bile bred of jealousy and fear. His only contentment was the secret he had; a secret that hid on the tip of his tongue as he watched Roan with throbbing envy. He told himself he was just bidding his time for the big reveal, but the truth was he was afraid, and that made him hate Roan all the more.

Across the room another conflicted soul rose from her table, her thickly-lashed Spanish eyes trained on Roan. She wanted him, but she despised him for not wanting her back. Part of her said to leave, to let him be and not abase herself further, but the greater part was drawn to him like a deep pool on a hot afternoon.

"Hello, Roan," She said when she reached his side.

"Mani," he said, not even moving his head in acknowledgement. Emmanuelle burned.

"So, now you send me children, huh?" She demanded huskily.

"I thought you liked fucking children," Roan replied, alluding to the fact that he'd had her at the ripe old age of twelve. He didn't lift an eye from his cards and spoke in monotone. He honestly didn't give a fuck.

On the other side of the table, Cru had perked up. Everyone else had gone silent. "What children?" Cru asked.

Emmanuelle was glad for the encouragement. "Some little "Speck" or something," she said.

"Spot Conlon?" Cru asked, unable to conceal a metallic edge from his voice. An edge that caused Roan to look up from his hand suspiciously. But Cru's adrenaline had him now. Emmanuelle shrugged. "Yeah, Spot Conlon is Roan's little protégé. He's fucking his way up in Roan's gang."

"He just licked my balls the one time. And he did a damn fine job of it too," Roan replied through puffs of smoke as he motioned to a man with a moustache to lay out the river.

"It wasn't _you_ I was talking about," Cru replied darkly.

Roan's head darted up, and Cru felt his adrenaline suck from his body in one foul swoop. "What the hell are you talking about, fuckface?" Roan demanded. Cru's mouth had gone dry. He moved his lips. He felt small and scared, and that made him angry.

"One of my boys followed your little bitch to the docks and saw her sucking Conlon's face. Is that how I get out of paying dues, too? By fucking your little whore?" Cru screeched.

Roan's fingers flew up Emmanuelle's thigh and he grabbed the pistol she kept on a holster between her legs. He shot Cru in a place that would make him regret the things he'd said. Roan stood up, leaving his winnings on the table because anyone with half a brain would have to choose a coffin before they touched them. He tossed the pistol back at Emmanuelle and approached Cru, who was screaming on the floor. "Why don't you fuck her now?" He demanded, kicking him to make sure he'd got the job done. Then he strode out into the night amid a stifling silence.

Spot Conlon was lying on the docks above the East River. On cold night like this one, the breath of the river coursed through your body until you felt like you were part of it. He felt a tingle up his spine as a stray breeze washed over his balls. It made him think of Ugly. She was kind of sexy and so forbidden. When she'd shown up at the docks the other day, she had just been so beautiful. Before that, she had always had this tough exterior. But that day, she had just looked so vulnerable. Her face had been so open, washed of any façade. She was like this sad little angel, held captive by a wicked king, and Spot Conlon was just the knight to rescue her. And hopefully overthrow the king in the process, Spot thought with a dreamy smile playing on his lips.

dun dun dun DUN! Things are coming to a head, so place your bets now! Sorry if the cards are stacked in my favor. ; ) Raise you hand if you know the answer…

Did you realize that there are _two _references to Spot's balls in this chapter? And I think they're pretty gross.

You may have noticed that Roan has a little bit of a temper. Unfortunately, Anger Management classes were not _de rigeur_ in the early 1900's. Will Roan direct this blind rage at Spot, or is it reserved for sniveling secondary characters? Opps, I just exposed my own weakness. Call censorship. And look for my rewrite in which Roan kills all major characters, himself first.

Is anyone else questioning Spot's motives? I think he's a suspicious character, quite mysterious...

So, to recap, Roan's angry, Spot's horny and I'm sleepy. Reviews pleasant dreams!


	13. Chapter 13

Spot had rolled himself a nice little cigarette and was floating just above his body in a place between sleep and awake. The world was transparent, he could see the bottom. Life was good.

It took his mind a little long to register the footsteps pounding towards him up the dock. He sat up and shook his head, calling his spirit back to his body so that he could make sense of what was happening. He stood himself up, disoriented, when a fist connected with his jaw. The impact reunited his body and spirit and knocked them both to the ground.

He was immediately back on his feet, his mind painfully sharp, his body ready. Roan Xavier was now casually lighting a cigar, with no evidence that he had just blind-sided Spot in the face. Spot's muscles were tense, his eyes were flashing like marbles in the sun.

Roan lit his cigar and tossed the stub in the river. Spot was alive with fury.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" The confusion in his voice struck him as sounding fearful.

Roan puffed on the cigar and spouted smoke like a mythical creature. When he spoke it was with a calm and reasonable certainty, as cut and clear as a sharpened blade. "I'm going to show you who runs Brooklyn. I'm going to make sure you don't forget." Spot felt the familiar rebellious passion alight his heart. Brooklyn was a place where you were constantly fighting against those who wanted to keep you down. You had to earn the right to be respected. You had to fight for it. That was what Spot loved about Brooklyn.

"Put your fucking cigar down," Spots voice crackled with anticipation. His blood was flowing, his nerves were alive. He was ready for this moment. This moment was his life.

Roan looked at Spot critically. Roan knew people like he had created them himself. He could read them better then most, and more importantly, he understood the value of reading them. Spot was strong, Spot was brave. He could throw himself in at a moment's notice and fight like a pitbull. But he was overeager. He had this repulsive need to prove himself. This ravenous hunger hung on his lips and pooled behind his eyes.

"Must be hard to get no respect," Roan observed, smoke blooming from his mouth like prophesy.

"What?" Spot demanded. He wasn't a talker, he was a fighter.

"How long you lived in Brooklyn?" Roan asked conversationally.

"You didn't come here to chat," Spot growled. He felt himself being pushed to unfamiliar territory, shaky ground, he tried to coax Roan back.

Roan just shrugged in response, then continued with his monologue. "I figure you been here your whole life, you got that Brooklyn scowl, that superior air," Roan smiled to himself at this. God, he loved this borough. "And yet you still don't get no respect," Roan was talking as if to himself. "Must be hard to have everyone laughing at you."

"Why don't you come laugh over here," Spot threatened. If Roan thought he was getting to him, he was wrong. If people wanted to laugh at him, they should do it to his face. He'd shut them up for good.

"Conlon, Conlon, Conlon, don't you get it?" Roan asked. "You're a joke. You're an angel-faced little newsboy who talks tough. And you know why you talk tough? 'Cause you're scared. You're scared of being invisible. You're scared of not mattering. You're scared of being left behind."

Spot wanted more than anything to ignore these words. But the more he wanted to ignore them, the more powerful they became. They called to mind echoes of a past he'd locked up so tight inside him. And while he thought he'd buried them away, he suddenly realized that they had just been waiting, waiting and feeding. And as they let loose inside him, he realized that they had grown into something fearful and uncontrollable. This beast sprouted inside of him and expanded throughout his entire body, so forcefully, it even began to leak from his eyes.

And that was when Roan hit him. When he had separated his body from his mind. Spot's mind was whirring, processing a thousand fears, registering pains both fresh and ancient. Spot's body cracked against the floor and he remembered his years at the refuge, too small to protect himself from the other boys. A boot connected with his head and he remembered his father, who once pushed him out a window. A blow to his stomach reminded him of his mother, who used to hug him so hard his ribs nearly snapped.

It wasn't that Spot wasn't trying to fight back. But every time he tried to get up, he failed. It was like running again and again into a brick wall. Which is what life was. Spot almost enjoyed it. There was some sort of wicked pleasure in the pain of the struggle. But his hope was fading fast. As his body struggled its own private battle, Spot's mind searched for something to cling to, some hope to fasten his mind on, to anchor it from the beating on his body.

He saw her hair first. Possiblly called to mind because of its color, which was like an angel's, yellow. Then he saw her cunning little eyes, guarded and green, her pink mouth. The red marks on her chin you could tell she had picked at.Her face gave his mind clarity, and somehow got him shakily to his feet, just as Roan threw the punch that knocked him out.


	14. Chapter 14

Roan stood on the Brooklyn Bridge over the East River. Disappointment made his mouth taste papery and dry. He gazed out at Brooklyn, she was still his. But he had expected more from Spot Conlon, he wasn't quite sure why. He had hoped that maybe this time, it'd be a thick, killing fight. But no such luck.

Roan led a charmed life. Everything came to him easily, too easily. So every time he won, he resented it. He was a warrior. He needed to push himself to the absolute brink, to feel like he was so alive he was almost dead. This need drove his life like coal in a steam engine. He couldn't stop himself because if he did, that's when the demons would come. Roan's greatest enemy was his mind. Every time he paused, his thoughts came charging in and began to gnaw on his insides. So he never paused. He kept chucking shovelful after shovelful of burning coal into the engine. The flames were leaping, the controls were squealing, and the wheels were screaming across the tracks.

_What happens to a runaway train?_ Roan shuddered involuntarily. Then he turned and walked hurriedly away. He had places to go, people to see. He wasn't a person; he was a force of nature.

"Get up!" Ugly was yanked from her shadowy dreams into clear reality. Her eyes focused to find Kyro standing over her. His face was pale and strained, even more so then usual. "You need to get out of here," he said. He grabbed her arm below the shoulder and pulled her to her feet. Ugly's head was cloudy and she stifled the urge to lash out at him.

"What's…" she mumbled something incomprehensible, too groggy to think straight.

"You need to leave," Kyro repeated.

"What? Why?" Ugly asked, starting to come to. There was a strange urgency in Kyro's voice, coupled with a distance foreign to Ugly.

"Roan…well, he heard something about you and…that Conlon boy. He shot Cru." Ugly felt like she'd just had a bucket of ice water poured on her. Her body was cold and heavy. Kyro avoided her eye.

So Roan knew. "Where is he?" She asked. Kyro didn't respond. They both knew. Ugly felt herself begin to panic. She was losing control of her breathing. Was she dying? "Where can I go?" She asked desperately.

"Just don't tell me," Kyro responded, coldly. His response hit Ugly hard. Now she knew the lay of the land. Sure, he had warned her, but she could expect no favors from him. He was on Roan's side. Up until now, she had been, too. It was the only safe place to be.

Ugly was afraid, and her fear turned to anger. She glared at Kyro. What once was, was now lost. Their friendship, their _relationship_…it all meant nothing. Just like that. Anger crackled inside her and she turned to leave. "Good bye, Kyro," she said, slamming the door behind her. As usual, he was silent.

She was halfway up the block before she realized she was only wearing a button down t-shirt and boys underwear. The darkness crawled around her, filled with unfamiliar faces. She continued walking, trying to ignore the growing fear that seized her limbs and choked her throat. She needed something, anything to get her through.

And that was when he came to her. His gold-lit eyes flashed through her mind as exquisite as a vision, and she felt herself calmed, in spite of everything. Her relief was short lived. Her stomach immediately plummeted through the floor as she re-realized the significance of what had caused her pain in the first place, _Roan knew_.

Her bare feet pounded across the dirt road, her body strained with superhuman effort as she ran toward the docks. She dodged people on the street like they were pieces in some great obstacle course. She ran like a hero to her love.


	15. Chapter 15

Roan was a star burning twice as bright, but half as long. He was in his bedroom, smoking opium. Kyro was somewhere in the shadows, strung out and mumbling to himself. It was the pitch of night before the rise of the sun. Roan felt strange.

"Where's Ugly?" He asked, distantly.

Kyro groaned. "Where do you think she is?"

Roan thought. His brain was grinding slowly. One more puff, maybe it would stop, he thought smiling. What would that be like? "I sent her on a job, didn't I? She's out plugging some bastard. Sendin' 'im to hell," he chuckled to himself. Kyro was silent. Roan was fucked completely off his head. Kyro was vaguely aware that he'd never seen him so far gone. It scared him a little. Roan needed to be the one in control, Kyro needed to be led, needed some god to worship. Then Kyro heard it, a whisper in the dark, "Maybe we should send her to hell."

XXX

Ugly was on an endorphin-induced high by the time she reached the docks. She slowed, something seemed different. For one thing, it was dark. She had always pictured them bathed in light. She saw a figure sitting slumped against a post, smoking a cigarette. She quickened her pace.

"Spot!" She yelled, unable to help herself. He turned and she gave an involuntary shudder. He had a black eye, a fat lip and there was an "X" scratched into his forehead. It brought back a frightening memory. On one of her first hits with Roan, he'd bent over the victim and scratched the same letter into his skin with a fingernail. "X is for Xavier," he'd said, grinning. "You won't forget me, will you?"

"Ugly," Spot said, the corner of his lips twitched up in a painful smile.

She sat down next to him. "Are you okay?" She asked, reaching out to wipe the fresh blood that dripped from the corner of his lip. He nodded.

"I ain't never lost a fight," he said, improving the truth a little.

"How does it feel?" She asked.

"Like it ain't over." Ugly shuddered again. She felt tears well up in her eyes and slide down her face. "You're crying," he said gently, "don't cry." He reached out a battered hand and wiped her cheek.

"What are we going to do?" She moaned.

"You don't need to worry, sweetheart, I'm going to go out there, and I'm going to kill him, and we won't ever have to worry about him again." For some reason, his response caused a catch in her throat.

"You can't kill him," she said. He looked at her strangely.

"You say that like you don't want me to," he said. Ugly felt confused.

"I just…I just…I don't know…" she sputtered. Spot's blue eyes narrowed.

"_You don't know? _Roan is a crazy fuck who has killed dozens of innocent people, who just nearly killed me, and you say you _don't know_?" Spot yelled.

Ugly felt like a steam engine was roaring through her head. He was right, wasn't he? But still, she didn't want him to, why didn't she want him to? In fact, there was a part of her that boiled at the very thought of him trying to harm Roan. Perhaps it was force of habit, but something screamed _stop him, stop him, he's the enemy_.

A million memories accrued over years together flooded her mind. Him leaning over in his bed, brushing back her hair. "You're so special, do you know that?" He whispered in her ear, in a way she couldn't help but believe. The way his smile lit up the room. His perfect stance and dead-on accuracy as he shot an enemy across the room.

"Roan is my family," she mumbled. Spot looked at her in horror and she felt ashamed.

"I guess I was wrong about you," he said. "I thought you weren't like them. I thought you were different. But you're not."

Ugly didn't respond. Spot was silent. They sat frozen as the sun began to rise over the horizon, mocking them with another day.

XXX

Ohh! The tragedy! Seriously, I just can't handle it, such drama!

So, is someone really going to _die_ here? I mean, that seems a little extreme, don't you think? I just know that if they all sit down together, they can resolve their differences! This is just too much drama. I should probably change the title to _The Young and the Restless_ or something.

Anyways, is Roan starting to lose it/ headed for disaster/ doomed?

Is Ugly seriously choosing Roan over Spot, or can she just not stomach anymore bloodshed? If you think about it, it really would be hard to kill one of your friends, even if they were a crazy, murdering fucker who seems to have no problem with the idea of killing you.

Is Spot becoming disenchanted with Ugly now that she seems to be protecting his mortal enemy? Is there any hope for them, or have things gone to crazy?

What will Kyro's role in all this be, now that Roan has stolen the "stoned off hishead" role?

Do you absolutely hate me for being a _wicked_, _wicked_ writer? And how am I possibly going to end this mess? Seriously, give me hints. ; )


	16. Chapter 16

Ugly was heading back to the Lodging House and she didn't know why. Her brain seemed to have quit functioning and habit had taken over. _This is what I do_, her mind told her. She had left Spot on the docks. He hadn't said a word as she got up and walked away. _What am I doing?_ She thought, but she pushed the thought away. That was the one thing she was good at.

The City sun was out in full force today, making everything sharp and offensive. Ugly felt slimy sweat crawl down her back and shine up her bare legs.

She reached the Lodging House and felt the relief of cool air as she stepped inside. She passed by the bunkroom and headed toward the stairs. _One step, two steps, three, four_. She couldn't think, was she going insane? Her feet felt strangely heavy, like they were tied to a ball and chain. Why did she feel so strange? Why did she have the sudden urge to turn around? Why was there sudden thought steaming through her mind, screaming _run!_ Her hand was on the doorknob, slick with sweat. The knob was turning beneath her loose grip. It slipped round, the door slid back, opened.

The room was dark, she stepped inside. She could hear breathing, sense life.

"Hey baby, how are you?" Roan's voice curled out of the dark like it was just another day, any other day. Ugly thought for a moment it was. She'd dreamed it all up. Yes, she had.

But she couldn't respond. Her mouth was dead. In fact, it was possible that she was dead. Yes, she had died She wasn't really there. Her body was numb.

She could see the glow of Kyro's yellow eyes in the dark. Her eyes were beginning to adjust. Roan was sitting on a chair next to him. God knew what they were doing, just sitting in the dark. God or someone else.

"We thought you'd left us, sweetheart," Roan said, standing up. He walked over to the shutters and opened them. The light came flooding in like the plague. The sounds of the streets washed in behind. Roan looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. He lit a cigarette. She looked over at Kyro, he wouldn't meet her eyes. Roan exhaled a long and gorgeous stream. "So, baby, why are you here?"

"I don't know," Ugly mumbled.

Roan shook his head sadly. "No, you don't. Poor, sweet girl, you don't know anything do you? Why is that, huh? Why don't you know?" Ugly's throat was dry. She didn't know, the answer was in the question. Roan approached her, stood in front of her. He put out his free hand and lifted her chin up until she was looking into his eyes. "I'll tell you why. It's because you're scared." Her green eyes were cold and shiny. "You're scared to think for yourself because you don't trust yourself, you don't believe in yourself." His hand somehow found a way into her hand and he slid something metal into it. Ugly recognized it as the handle of a revolver. "But I've always wanted you to succeed, baby, I've always believed in you," tears flowed from her eyes without any impetus.

"Why?" She said, her voice cracked. It was so vital, so important a question. Roan eyes were glossy, glowing and alive.

He dropped his cigarette and put it out with his toe. Then he took her hand that held the revolver and carefully lined the barrel up with his heart. "With you, baby, I never needed a reason."

"What are you doing?" She asked. Her hands jerked down involuntarily, but he held them firmly.

"I don't like to be stabbed in the back, baby, so if you're going to do this, you better fucking do it," he growled. Ugly's arms went limp.

"Let go!" She cried.

"Jesus, baby, I'm doing this for you!" He cried. His aura was sparkling and crackling, causing waves of fear to roll down Ugly's spine. "I'm dying for you! This is what you want, so take it! Come on, sweetie, don't' be scared, this is what you want, so take it! Take it!" He screamed. His fingers rolled over hers on the trigger. She felt them push down over hers and her knees collapsed.

XXX

Dun dun dun DUN! Wow, could things get any more dramatic? Bet ya didn't see that one coming, didja? didja? But it is not over yet mes amis (because that would be a pretty lame-ass ending). So, let's have some questions…

First of all…what the fuck? Yeah, I mean, Roan is pretty fucking insane. I mean, I thought he was crazy before, but this? Does it even make sense? But then again, does anything he ever does make sense? Must be one of those perks of insanity…hmm…

And then there's Ugly, for a killer she sure is a wimp, I mean, talk about wishy-washy! Jeez!

And yet she still has nothing on Kyro, who is apparently munching on Cheeto's at this point, yeah, way to go mate!

And speaking of AWOL, where the fuck is Spot? He better get his ass down here and do something cute really fast because I am getting mad at him!

Yikes! What is going to happen? What what what what what? Nous allons voir…


	17. Chapter 17

_Click_ went the empty cartridge. Roan released his grip and Ugly dropped to the floor. The gun fell and skidded to Roan's feet. He was grinning wildly, relief had rolled over him like a tidal wave. He bent over and picked up the gun, spinning the cartridge.

"What can I say, when it's not your time, it's not your time…I swear there's a bullet in here somewhere…maybe," he turned and extended his arm in a perfect stance with the barrel aimed at Kyro's head. "Are you up for a little Russian Roulette?" He asked Kyro, who was sitting in a wooden chair with glassy eyes.

"Do it." Kyro said, his voice thick with twisted desire. Roan pulled the trigger. _Click_. Roan smiled.

"Lucky us," Roan commented. Ugly was still on the floor struggling to pull herself together. Her vision was blurred and her mind was wailing. Roan casually circled her. "Who's turn is next?" He asked. "Anyone? Anyone?...hmmm…maybe our special guest can answer that one," He swung around to face the door. "Conlon?"

Spot Conlon stepped into the room from the shadows behind the open door. His marred face dark and his step resolute. His eyes were like the sinner's flames on judgment day.

Roan faced him and extended the hand with the revolver out behind him, so that it was pointing at Ugly. "It's her turn, isn't it Conlon? It's only fair." Ugly shuddered on the floor, her eyes fixed on the barrel that was lined up with her head. She'd always wondered what it felt like on the receiving end. Now it seemed she might finally know. "I was willing to take a bullet for her, are you?"

"I won't have to." Spot said. His voice was strong and sure. It was the voice that kept the bigger, the stronger and the smarter in line beneath him. The voice that kept him on top. Roan smiled. It was the first time he had ever been scared of Spot Conlon.

XXX

Mwa hahaha! You didn't really think I'd killed off Roan did you? That just wouldn't be right. Don't you just love that I can't hold out a cliffhanger for more than five seconds? I can't help it; they just drive me crazy, even though I am in control of what's happening (supposedly).

So, why won't Spot have to?

Is there really a bullet in that gun? I'd feel more comfortable if someone checked.

Is this chapter wickedly short or what? Okay, I confess, I'm dragging it out a little.

What is going to happen? A brawl? Peace talks? An orgy? Obviously, it's going to be something crazy! Yikes, I'm starting to get concerned. At least everyone's still alive, for now anyway…


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hey! just wanted to warn you, things get a bit errr..._confusing_ here. Basically, I really wanted to do a sequel (which I am currently doing) so I tried to set it up, but it's a little messy, but that's okay because I _love_ my sequel (if I do say so myself) so...hmmm...yeah...here's the ending to _this_ portion of the tale...

XXX

"_I don't have to_," Roan repeated, shooting a smile at Kyro, who was watching the scene with the usual detatchment. Roan turned back to Spot. "Why is that, darling? Why don't you have to?"

"Because I've got something to say," Spot said. His eyes glinted with superiority. It caught Roan off guard. He lowered the gun involuntarily.

"And what is that, pray tell?" His voice was low and laced with an almost imperceptible vulnerability. But Spot perceived it, and his smug smile widened. He folded his arms across his chest. "You sure seem confident for a guy who just got soaked off his ass," Roan growled. Spot didn't respond, which increased Roan's unease, which was exactly what Spot wanted. What he didn't notice, however, was the look on Ugly's face. She looked stricken and frozen in terror. Terror of the truth.

"Yeah, well I just got a letter," Spot said, reaching into his pocket.

"Congratulations," Roan said. He shot Kyro another look, but this time he was staring at his shoe and didn't notice.

Spot shot Roan a dirty look and unfolded the letter. "You do a lot of things that oughta get you into trouble," Spot began. Roan smiled at this, reminiscing. "But usually you manage to get yourself out of it. But one time, you messed with the wrong people," Roan wasn't smiling anymore. "Somehow you managed to escape and ran yourself to Brooklyn. And that, my friend, was your greatest mistake." Spot had stolen Roan's grin. "Because Brooklyn is mine."

Roan's face had gone from white to transparent, but still he somehow managed to keep his cool. "I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about," he said in monotone.

"Well, let me refresh you memory," Spot looked down at the letter. "Coolridge, Alabama."

Roan's face was a cold blank but you could almost see the tension jumping just beneath the surface. From her place on the floor, Ugly looked to be on the brink of a cardiac arrest. Her face was drained and her eyes so wide, they were nearly out of the sockets.

"You were passing through, and you picked yourself up a little stowaway," Spot looked over to Kyro, who was really having a time of it staring at his shoes.

Spot was so proud of himself. Thanks to this anonymous tip he'd figured it all out. The note was cryptic, to be sure. But the point was clear. Roan had kidnapped somebody, Kyro, he assumed,from an extremely wealthy family in Alabama. There was a tremendous price on his head. The letter also provided the contact information for the family's relatives in the city, who would be more than happy to see justice served. "And his family wants him back."

Roan had locked Spot in a death glare. All the darkness of hell seemed crowded into the depths of his dark eyes. His face was pointed and animal-like. "Did your Pen Pal happen to mention that _he_ is my wife?" Roan asked, in a barely perceptible whisper.

Spot's mind was throw for a loop. "Kyro is your wife?" He asked, without thinking. Jesus! This was more twisted then he'd thought. He looked from Roan to Kyro in confusion.

Roan walked over to Ugly and kneeled down next to her, slowly running her fingers through her hair. Ugly looked up at him with her soft, innocent eyes.

It took Spot's mind several seconds to jump the cables. "Ugly?" He asked.

She looked at him. "It's not what you think, he didn't make me. I wanted to, I needed to get away."

Roan stood up. "Did your little _Pal_ tell you that her _family_ used to fuck her? That they tossed her around and told her she was worthless?" Roan asked, his voice impassioned. "Do you see this girl?" He demanded. "This beautiful, perfect girl? I look at her and it breaks my heart."

"I wanted to go with him, Spot. He saved my life, he protects me." Ugly stood up, her knees shaking slightly.

"But he's…he's…" Spot began.

"What is he, Spot?" Spot turned at the sound of Kyro's soft, dulcet voice. "What is he that's any different then anyone else? That's any different then you? Everyone's good and everyone's evil and everyone's hopelessly fucked up. So stop fucking with our girl's mind and pretending that you're any better."

Spot and Ugly's eyes met for a moment. Despite the situation, Spot still felt a flush crawl up his cheeks. "You're married?"

Roan interjected, "I married her so her _family_ wouldn't have any claim to her. It's perfectly legal…I think."

"Oh." Spot said. He looked around the room. This was one twisted, fucked up bunch of people. His eyes rested on Ugly. "I'm kind of at a loss for words, here."

"Want a joint?" Kyro asked, pulling up the sack next to his chair and getting preparing some rolling papers.

Spot looked around the room again. Roan was heading over to Kyro, any insanity seemed to have temporarily dissipated. Ugly was looking at him with a raw purity that was unsettling, but in a good way. The truth suited her.

Roan sat down next to Kyro and lit up the joint he handed to him. The both inhaled, held and exhaled together.

"You know what Spot? I always liked you. Didn't I Kyro?" He nudged Kyro in the shoulder.

"Oh yeah, he fucking loved you." Spot smiled a little. Ugly smiled back. Their eyes remained locked.

"C'mon, have a joint," Ron coaxed.

"I don't smoke." Spot said, his gaze constant.

"Me neither." Ugly replied.

XXX

Hmmm…tres bizarre…this chappie just ran the gammut in about five seconds flat. But, oh! A happy ending…in a weird way. I think. hmm

Anyways, these are the FINAL questions! Wow, I guess you get the grand prize if you answer these ones!

Who sent the letter? Why?

Is it kind of a let down for all the mystery solved? Yeah, it always is.

How many of you saw this coming? If any of this is "familiar", I give up!

So, will there be a new foursome hitting Brooklyn in the future? Can one gang handle the multiple egos?

Will Spot & Ugly not smoke together into eternity?

Won't they all be kind of cute together? Just imagine all the great times in store! Maybe Spot can help keep Roan in check. What a great lesson we all have learned about peace and getting along. Let's all hold hand and sing…

PS So, yeah, I already have sequel in the works that (in my humble opinion) will be a million (approximately) times better then the original! So look out people!


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